


Perhaps

by Maewestin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Acquaintances to Friends to More Than Friends, Anxiety Disorder, M/M, Non-explicit Grinding, Panic Attacks, Unhealthy Levels of Self Blame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maewestin/pseuds/Maewestin
Summary: Lance has anxiety and unhealthy coping mechanisms, and being thrown into an intergalactic war where the stakes are life or death does not help his ability to deal.His friends and teammates are supportive in different ways.________________________________________________________________________________________________________________A series of related drabbles of assorted lengths. Within the Voltron Universe but not canon compliant.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are a few, disjointed, self-indulgent snippets as I attempt to write creatively for the first time. May add more chapters, as this was originally going to be a spicy Klance one-shot but jumping into that was a little overwhelming. This self-isolation though has given me the time to try something new, so here we are. I'll probably be looking over and editing this again even after posting. Stay safe and stay sane <3

“Lance? Are you awake? Can I come in?”

I don’t know. Can you? The grade-school retort flashed through his mind, an easy joke and noncommittal response when what he really wanted to say was ‘No thanks, no socialization today.’ But Lance didn’t want to make Hunk feel bad, and turning away his best friend would not only hurt Hunk’s feelings, but then Lance would feel even worse for being a shitty friend. So really there wasn’t another option.

As he lay in bed, covered by every blanket and pillow he could find, trying to find the energy to talk loud enough to be heard from under his mountain or to clear some of it away, he heard the soft beeps and clicks as his door activated.

“I’m coming in, so if you’re doing anything embarrassing, this is your last warning.” The door closed, and though muffled, Lance heard footsteps approaching his bed until the mattress dipped. 

“...Hey.” He pulled one of his blankets back from his face stare at Hunk, who was holding a glass of water, a plate of the alien version of saltines, and looking a bit worried. 

“I wasn’t sure what type of sick you were feeling, so I just brought some basics…?” Hunk set the food and water on the floor next to the bed, watching Lance’s face. What was his face doing right now? Was he making a weird expression? Was he making any expression? Maybe that’s why Hunk was staring. Maybe trying a smile… He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, but couldn’t muster the energy for a full grin. Ah well, he tried. Hunk seemed to understand. 

“Is it anything specific you’re thinking about?” Sweet Hunk, who had to deal with these mood swings all the way through the Garrison, seemed to have a sixth sense for when Lance was struggling and tried so hard to help Lance process and return to functional levels. Harder than Lance deserved, really. Feeling overwhelmed by guilt, feeling inadequate over his inability to even respond, his eyes closed again with a light exhale. Hunk laid down next to him. 

“That bad, huh? Have you had anything to eat or drink today?” Lance lightly turned his head to the side. “Ok, could you have some water and crackers?” “...Maybe water.” The bed shifted again and Lance opened one eye to watch as Hunk reached to grab the water. 

“Ok bud, you gotta sit up a little to drink. Want some help with the blankets?” Well this was embarrassing. Couldn’t get out of bed, best friend having to make a special trip to check on him like a child, and now he couldn’t even find the motivation to sit up. By time he had laid there and agonized over his many shortcomings, Hunk had already pulled off most of the blankets and was gently hauling Lance up with a firm arm around his shoulders. Whoa, talk about a head rush. Lance felt himself flop into Hunk’s side, turning to rest his forehead against his broad shoulder until everything stopped spinning. 

“Sorry. Too fast?” Hunk’s hand tightened lightly against Lance’s shoulder in support until he felt Lance pulling away and sitting up on his own. 

“I’m ok now Hunk. Just a little tired.” The water glass was cool when Lance grabbed it, but even a small sip made his stomach flip. Since Hunk was watching him so closely, he took another small bit to appease him before holding it out. 

“Nuh uh. You can hold on to that until you drink a bit more. Don’t look like that. I didn’t say the whole thing. Just, more than that.” Lance stared down at the water, already feeling sick at the thought. But Hunk was looking at him, so worried and so perceptive and such a good friend, that he took another small mouthful, letting it sit on his tongue, barely trapped behind his lips, before swallowing in small increments. A few deep breaths through his nose to help settle his stomach afterwards. Ok. He could do this. 

“Could you try something to eat?” Scratch that. Absolutely not. Hard pass. He couldn’t do this. He was going to puke up the water plus whatever cracker Hunk wanted him to try to eat. There was a painful clench in his stomach as the nausea returned along with his anxiety and then he was breathing deeply through his nose again, harder than before, and the glass in his hand was shaking, and Hunk was pulling it away, looking desperately for something empty before settling on yanking the pillow out of the case. Lance had a moment to make a mental note to get a small bucket for trash in his room before he was heaving up the token amount of water in his stomach. And then, because he had already started, he proceeded to dry heave for the next minute before getting control of his spasming stomach. 

Blinking his watering eyes, Lance looked over to Hunk, whose hand was rubbing softly on his upper back but whose head was turned completely to the side, muttering to himself and breathing deeply through his mouth. Hunk took sympathy puking to a new level. Empathy puking? What was the next level up from sympathy puking? Whatever it was, Hunk had it, because A second later his big friend was grabbing the pillow case from Lance and hurling up whatever was in his own stomach. Lance returned the favor from earlier, rubbing small soothing circles on Hunk’s upper back until he likewise got control of his own stomach and then they both sat next to each other. Quiet until Hunk stood up quickly, holding the pillowcase at arm’s length. “Before this soaks through and we have a bigger mess, I’m gonna toss this. Hope this isn’t your lucky pillowcase or anything.” Lance watched as the pillowcase was unceremoniously dumped in the small trash chute in the wall on the other side of his room and then Hunk was back in bed, flopping onto his back. 

“Want a hug?” Always so thoughtful. Hunk knew that sometimes Lance needed nothing more than reassurance, affection, and a reminder that being out in the vastness of space, away from his family and what felt like everything he knew, didn’t mean he was actually alone. That all his larger than life worries about the war, saving the universe, and being one battle, one wrong move, one mistake away from death, could be helped by the comfort of being held and reminded that he had friends who understood exactly what he was going through and that were strong enough to support each other. 

With a heavy sigh, Lance nodded and fell back onto his friend who promptly wrapped very large arms around both Lance and his mound of blankets he was still wrapped in. “Hunk, just threw up. Maybe a little less sumo lift and more awkward end of a first date.” The arms loosened. "Sorry."

Lance and Hunk were both familiar with his anxiety. When they had been together in the Garrison, it had manifested itself in all-nighters spent studying and doing homework long before it was actually due, too many cups of coffee, excessive exercise and training runs on the flight simulator, and occasional missed meals. If it went too far, Hunk and Pidge would run interference in the form of a forced movie or game night, sandwiched together on a single shitty dorm bed under a load of pillows with some delicious hand-made snack that Hunk ‘wanted to try’ and Lance would reset. Back to a Lance that was anxious, but could manage his life without falling apart.

It wasn’t a foolproof method. Sometimes Lance would have already reached his breaking point, or his stress levels were heavier than even good company and good food could lighten, and he would go through periods of receding into himself. Reserved where normally he was outgoing, hesitant where he was once bold, quiet rather than boisterous and assured and bright. 

Laying in bed next to his best friend, being on the receiving end of what he had sampled and found to be, objectively, one of the best hugs in the explored galaxy, Lance realized that as good as it felt, he had already cycled. There was nothing to break him out of. He was completely out. So far down and out he was rolling along the ground, hitting every rock, looking at the chem trails from the ship he had fallen off of and vaguely wondering if it was going to come back and pick him up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes, Lance felt overwhelmed in a different way. The lack of control from the day to stress of fighting in a war that none of them had been prepared for. The constant inundation of expectations that he had placed on himself, that Allura and Coran expected, that his team expected, that the whole universe expected from him as a Paladin of Voltron. The constant drive to do better, and be better, to be enough to matter and be useful and and not just a token member of the team, a Paladin in not only name but also in skill, would leave him so anxious that even sitting shoulder to should for mealtime was enough to make him want to scream from the overstimulation. Not to mention the constant mind melds when forming Voltron, where he felt like he was shouldering the worries of his own teammates on top of his own. Anxiety told him he wasn’t enough, and never would be unless he dedicated his entire focus to improving, and human contact was a distraction that he couldn’t handle. 

Lance was having a bad streak, one of yet another that seemed more and more to be the norm out here. He had been putting in late hours studying maps of the planets and ship schematics for upcoming missions and training late, often sneaking out of bed after a few hours of failed sleep. He felt like shit, probably looked like shit, but Pidge had been hurt on the last mission and if he had been better at close combat he would have finished off the Galra he had been fighting against in time to make it to Pidge before she had taken the shot to the arm. So here he was, at whatever the Altean equivalent to 2am was, completing another round against the bot with a series of attacks sans weapons. When the door to the training room slid open, Lance was only slightly surprised to see Keith walking in, looking awake but definitely fresh from sleep if his loose shirt and pants and even messier than usual hair were anything to go by. 

“Do you know what time it is right now,” Keith had demanded, stopping just inside the doorway and looking at Lance with a raised eyebrow. In no mood to talk, Lance waved a vague hand. “Couldn’t sleep,” he offered, not willing to expand. Keith stood quietly, watching the next match and making the small hairs on Lance’s neck stand up with awareness and annoyance. It was right as Lance swept the feet from under the current bot, ending the fight, that Keith spoke up.

“Want to spar some with me? I could use the practice.” There was no inflection to the words, just a simple offer to practice, and it was honestly a little grating with the amount of excess ‘inflection’ Lance was feeling. He wanted to say no, to say he didn’t want to be around anybody, clearly, since he was in the training room by himself at an ungodly hour. That Keith wasn’t the one who needed the practice, who had let down a teammate and gotten them hurt. But that would be rude, and Keith was his friend and teammate who was only trying to help, and so he shrugged and waited while Keith stretched and then they were facing off in the center of the room. 

The first match was slow, as Keith worked out the sleep from his muscles and Lance adapted to fighting someone with as much talent as Keith, who despite the sleep handicap was easily keeping pace. It ended when Lance got a lucky fist through a high block and lightly tapped Keith on the cheek. Violet eyes blinked at him in surprise and annoyance before Keith acknowledged “that was a good feint,” and Lance shrugged it off with a frown and muttered “got lucky. Ready?” Keith stood a moment unguarded, hands at his sides and studying Lance more closely than was comfortable, and then he nodded. 

The next four matches Lance lost, and each progressive loss had him moving with less forethought, merely attempting to react to whatever Keith did rather than going on the offensive himself. 

After the fifth round, and another loss, Keith suggested maybe it would be better if they picked this up in the morning once they both had time to sleep. Lance refused. Though he didn’t comment, Lance could see the muscles flex in Keith’s jaw as he clenched it. But all he did was nod and step back.

After the eighth consecutive loss, this time where Keith had physically swept the legs from under Lance and pinned him to the mat, swearing and red-faced, Keith asked if he yielded. This was different from their earlier matches, where it had been unspoken that the fight ended when the first person made it through a defense. Lance struggled, feeling the tension in his wrists arms and shoulders, pulled behind him uncomfortably and only getting worse the more he twisted to get free. He let out a pained grunt, pulling harder than his joints could stand and feeling the mental strain as well as the physical, realizing he was trapped, with no control - again - and couldn’t help another abortive twist of his upper body. A hand came down between his shoulder blades, pressing. “Lance, enough. You’re hurting yourself.” 

“Get off me.” He ground out his acerbic response, pressing his eyes closed and wishing to disappear entirely. But more importantly, he needed the weight behind him, the restraints on his movement, to just go away. Keith let go quickly, backing away and letting Lance breathe heavily on the mat before standing, staring down at his hands. Flexing his fingers, feeling the pull of muscles and tendons that ached from the strain of hours of training barehanded, Lance wondered if he had actually improved at all. The matches against Keith had left him feeling overwhelmed again, useless and impotent in a way that compounded with his roiling guilt. When was he going to be enough?

“Lance, it wasn’t your fault.” Keith was staring again when Lance looked up, his face carefully blank while Lance’s own flushed with shame and guilt.

“I don’t…” Lance paused, at a loss for how to respond. Why? Why was he saying that? Pity wasn’t something Keith indulged in. Was it a way to say he noticed Lance’s mistake during the mission? Of course he noticed. Lance, the predictable fuck-up. Didn’t have to look too hard to find a mistake. And this time Pidge had been collateral damage to his shortcomings. 

“Lance. We saw the footage of what happened. Pidge told us. You were overwhelmed. It wasn’t your fault. Nobody blames you.” There was a static noise rushing through his ears, rising up from his toes, shivering through his hands until it burst out of his mouth in a single angry “I blame myself!” 

Keith blinked at the outburst but otherwise remained passive. The steadfast calm, the lack of reactionary anger from him, added another layer of guilt to Lance’s already impressive stack. He felt his face go warm. The only thing Keith had done was try to help, and now Lance was yelling at him. He sat down in place, feeling too overwhelmed to stand. 

“I’m sorry. Fuck.” He was feeling so tired, so anxious, so completely overwhelmed and out of control. Between the urges to practice until he physically couldn’t, study the stars and planets and systems and people that they were tasked with liberating, acclimating to his new role as Red Paladin, scared to stop for food or sleep because the Galra were a constant threat, Lance could feel himself reaching the breaking point. The team, Allura, the people who they had already saved and who were still hoping for Voltron to come to their aid all deserved as much as he could give. Anything less would be neglectful as a Paladin and friend. But he wasn’t sure how much more he had to give. Thinking of Pidge, healing in a cryopod, made him realize that he may never have enough to give and that the team would be better, maybe - 

“Lance. Stop.” Keith was kneeling in front of him, hands wrapped around Lance’s wrists and pulling them apart. His hands were warm, palms callused, and Lance realized he owed Hunk 10 gac since Keith clearly did not wear his gloves to bed. Damn. 

The inside of Lance’s left wrist was turning a ruddy red, stinging and slightly swollen, and Lance realized he must have been pinching the tender skin there, a nervous stim that came out when he was feeling truly overwhelmed. His fingers still flexed, lacking any sensory input to help focus his thoughts. Lance closed his eyes, trying to take calming breaths, and felt Keith lace their fingers together. Calmingbreathscalmingbreathscalmingbreathswhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck - ‘Oh.’ Keith was squeezing, steadily applying pressure and Lance felt it along his nerve endings, travelling from his palms, the webbing between his fingers, up his arms and filling his mind with cool tranquility. Then he was squeezing back, feeling the muscles flex and bones creak and he let his fingertips bump across Keith’s knuckles. A steady back and forth as they traded pressure, Lance modulating his breathing and reveling in the sensations until finally feeling lighter. 

Keith was still kneeling in front of him, staring openly and looking overall very relaxed considering the situation. Lance reflexively tightened his grip and felt his face heat. And Keith, of course, chose that moment to quirk a small smile as he tightened his own grip and dammit, Lance could feel himself blushing harder. It wasn’t as though Lance hadn’t noticed Keith was attractive. Sure he acted like a feral child at times, but after his time with the Blade and his hiatus where he found his mom, then working with Shiro to take over the Black Paladin role, Keith’s outbursts had become rare. Instead, that wild energy translated itself into an intensity, a sense of purpose, in everything he did. It consistently drew Lance’s attention, but it was very easy to ignore amidst literally any and every other thing taking precedence over awkwardly making goo goo eyes at a team mate that he had to live and work with for the foreseeable future. Not to mention the mind meld that would make it double awkward if he were constantly mooning. 

“Uh, sorry-” Lance was desperately trying to disentangle their fingers while standing back up. He was half-way to the door before Keith was even on his feet, but even then he made no move besides a small wave as Lance managed a quick “Thanks” before getting the door open and taking off down the hall. 

It wasn’t until he was almost asleep that he realized the crushing guilt he had been feeling buried under was almost completely gone, the anxiety lessened. Keith was perceptive, and much better with people than Lance originally gave him credit for. And having that intensity focused entirely on him had been - Lance shoved a pillow over his face with a groan smothering his thoughts as well as his wakefulness.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
After that night, whenever there was a mission that went sideways, Lance would often end the night by sparring with Keith. These were actually instructional, Keith taking the time to correct stances and offer feedback while Lance repeated new moves over and over until he had them committed to muscle memory. The physical release of his tension helped keep the anxiety at manageable levels, and gave him something to focus on improving. It helped when he was unable to remind himself of all the things he contributed to the team to feel the progress he was making to be able to help them in the future. 

Lance had also started extending invitations to Keith to join him and Hunk and Pidge during their hang-out nights, and Keith, with increasing regularity, would show up. At first he was quiet, not quite sure where he fit in the dynamic of the close friends. But Hunk was friendly to a fault, Pidge had a complete lack of judgement for his eccentric interests, and Lance could talk enough to fill the silences when they arose. He also had an uncanny ability to urge Keith into petty arguments about the size of Hunk’s bandana (“It’s fine Lance” “It’s too big! It hides his forehead!”), whether a sheet was a blanket (“They’re the same thing. One is just for summer.” “If that were true, they would just call it a summer blanket!”), to acceptable snacks (“Ketchup and bread.” “... You know what, I can’t even. This explains so much about your childhood. I won’t say that’s a wrong snack, but I do have the sudden urge to feed you every time I see you.” “Lance, stop trying to put that in my mouth.” “But you have so many missed experiences. Open up… Just - what are you doing? Stop trying to bite my fingers!”). Shiro would join intermittently, still reserved, but laughing at times and contributing his own input about Keith's frankly weird habits. It was a sense of normaly that Lance craved, that he knew they all needed, and if he found himself focused more on Keith than the others, he told himself it was only because Keith had shouldered the most responsibility lately and needed the most attention. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Lance was tucked away in a closet somewhere on the ship. The small room was still too big to keep him from flying apart as he hyperventilated, flexing his hands tighter and tighter until his fingertips were tingling. His whole body felt tense and jittery, light in a way that he only vaguely registered that his head was bouncing back against the wall, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to knock out the vision of Keith, covered in blood and lying so terrifying still on the ground. 

Allura had been calm over the comms, instructing Lance to set up a perimeter and do what he could to keep him safe and stable until they had cleared the rest of the area and could get Keith on a lion and back to the castle. 

So Lance had stretched out flat, ignoring the urge to barrel through the remaining enemies, keeping his positional advantage and neutralizing targets as they came to the area. He didn’t think he was even blinking, eyes continuously scanning for threats in between staring at Keith through the scope to make sure he was breathing. 

Every second felt like it stretched into eternity, and once he counted to 30 with no new threats, Lance was up, sprinting to Keith’s side and feeling for himself the small breaths he had been watching. No response besides a small flutter of his eyelids when Lance called his name, but that was better than nothing. At least he was still breathing. All Lance had to do was keep it that way until they got him into a healing pod. 

And now here he was, hiding in a closet spiraling into what felt like hysterics, while Keith was safely tucked away in an alien version of cryosleep in the med bay. 

The shaking was getting worse, and he dropped his head forward to his knees trying to drag more air into his lungs. It felt like his attempts to breathe were driving his lungs into his stomach, making his nausea much more apparent. Dinner, a plate of goo that Hunk had carefully supervised Lance eating, felt like a hard lump at the base of his ribs. 

He didn’t know which was more worrisome: the fact he couldn’t breathe or that his heart was going faster and harder than it felt like his chest could hold. With a detached sort of panic, he turned his head to rest his cheek on his knees and stare at one of his hands. It was hard to focus his eyes, even harder to try to raise his hand. Oh. As his lips started to tingle he finally registered what was happening. It had been so long since he’d had a full blown panic attack that he had been lucky enough to forget for a minute what it actually felt like. 

Identifying what was happening didn’t help to alleviate anything besides the vague concern that he may have actually been dying, and Lance spent the next 20 minutes on the floor in the dark, waiting for it to pass. And when it did, because he was lucky enough to be safe and uninjured, he stopped by the med bay to whisper a quiet apology to the pod holding Keith before going to the training room until he was finally exhausted enough to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation from the first chapter. I don't love it, but I'm so over continuously trying to fix what I don't like.

Shiro crushed Keith into a hug the second he fell out of the healing pod, not bothering to say anything, but also very deliberately ignoring Keith’s strangled grunts as he pushed against his muscled chest in an attempt to get some space. It took a well placed pinch for Keith to finally get to his own two feet, away from smothering bands of muscle and tech, red-faced and with his hair standing on end. Shiro was rubbing one hand over his pec, looking affronted while the rest of team tried very hard not to laugh at witnessing their leader resort to giving his friend a purple nurple. 

“Keith, that wasn’t necessary. I was just making sure you knew how much I missed having you whole and awake and not gravely injured, wandering around the castle.” Keith flattened his hair as much as possible, scowling. “You are a menace and I hope that bruises.” Shiro sniffed and dropped his hand back down to his side. 

Hunk and Pidge were gentler but no less insistent in their hugs, sidetracking whatever retort Shiro may have had and making Keith grunt in surprise. Pidge pulled away quickly, adjusting their glasses. “I really hate worrying like that, so don’t do it again.” Keith nodded. It was easier than having to both acknowledge that there was no guarantee any of them could avoid injury. Satisfied, Pidge stepped closer to Shiro, giving him some much needed space. Hunk, however, was releasing him slower, fretting over the chill still clinging to Keith’s arms. But then even he was stepping back, and Keith realized the big boy was looking at something behind him, raising his eyebrows expectantly, and Keith turned to see Lance only a few feet away. 

He looked tired, bright blue eyes underscored by dark rings, shoulders drooping inwards and hands shoved into his jacket pockets. But then he was stepping forward, giving Keith a quick hug of his own, and it felt like a revelation. Like some kind of cataclysmic shift. After all those nights training, trading had blows back and forth, this was the first time Keith had felt Lance soft and still against him. Keith raised his own arms and hugged him back, feeling the minute shift of Lance coming closer, softening further, a breath against his neck. 

And then Lance was pulling back. 

Keith let him go. There would be time to explore that later, not in front of the gathered team and Allura and Coran, who were now stepping forward and exclaiming over his recovery and ushering them all out the door.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keith debriefed what he recalled of the mission before his injury in between bites of goo and stretching out stiff muscles. 

Everyone had congregated in the dining room, sitting around the table and eating an early dinner. The others were filling him in on what had happened after he went down and just catching up in general, sharing stories and laughs in the way that comes from a morbid sense of having once again cheated death and the resulting high and feeling of invincibility. 

His eyes kept tracking across the table, where Lance sat next to Hunk who kept elbowing him discreetly and pointing to the full plate of goo in front of him. Lance would scoop up a small amount, eating it almost delicately, before launching back into conversation. Every time, Hunk would frown, and the cycle would start over a few minutes later. 

Keith noticed that Lance, for all he was saying, was careful to minimize drawing direct attention. His comments were tacked on to the end of others, never contradicting or inviting a deeper discussion or argument. This was very different from the Lance which Keith had grown used to, who provoked petty arguments for what seemed like no other reason than to argue. Who wasn’t scared to let people know what he thought, and would insistently draw everyone into a conversation that he would eagerly facilitate and shepherd along. 

Pidge and Shiro were talking about the biomechanics of a new energy source (weapon?) they had found on one of the planets, while Hunk and Allura and Coran were discussing a way to cook a traditional Altean dessert. Lance flit between the two conversations easily, but didn’t engage beyond a quick comment here and there. He primarily spent his time spreading and mashing the goo on his plate, feeding small amounts to the mice when Hunk wasn’t looking.

When everyone started yawning, carrying their plates and utensils to the garbage chute, Keith noticed that despite Hunk’s admonishment Lance still had a mostly untouched pile of green goo that he slid into the trash chute before quietly slipping out the door.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Lance went to the training room that night, he paused before entering. Keith was already there, in the middle of the room, fighting against two bots with his Blade knife. His movements were fast and concise, but Lance had now fought with and against him often enough that he noticed the way Keith was favoring his center, avoiding any excessive twisting or bending. The muscles there were healed, but still stiff and sore. Lance remembered his own experiences coming out of the pods after a big injury. 

Lance abruptly felt like crying. Seeing him handicapped in any way reminded him of how close he had come to something worse. Was he upset with him, for causing this setback? In a war where weakness meant potential death, Lane had weakened one of their strongest members, their leader, even after he had taken the time to train him consistently, and had trusted him on the mission. It would probably be better if he just went back to his room and let Keith work on his own. 

But Keith was driving his knife into the knee joint of one of the bots before slicing the head off the other and then he was coming towards Lance, who now had exactly no time to decide before Keith was asking him if he was joining. His feet were moving in on muscle memory, even as his mind questioned whether this was smart, and without any preamble he went to the center of the mat. He felt detached and slow, aware of his movements but not consciously feeling like he had any control. He waited for Keith to start the fight. 

It was quick. Keith started with a low feint and a high hit that they had practiced continuously just the previous week until Lance was managing to block and counter every repetition. But this time around Lance followed the feint rather than just shifting away from it, knees bending, body going low, and arms not coming up at all to protect from the fist that Keith hammered into his cheek. His head snapped sideways and he fell, mind not yet caught up to what had happened or the pain. 

“Oh shit. Lance. Lance.” Keith was helping Lance sit, turning his head to the side and gently inspecting the area. “I thought - dammit, I didn’t even try to pull that. I was just so focused, still on autopilot from those bots.”

Lance could feel the pain starting, a dull ache in his head and neck from the force of the hit. He blinked at the feeling of Keith’s hands on his face, looking over at purple eyes who were anxiously staring into his own. “No it’s - I’m fine. It’s ok. Sorry I didn’t block. Kinda fucked that up, huh?” He gave a deprecating laugh, starting to smile but then wincing at the stretch in his cheek. 

“No.” Keith was staring closely at his eyes, waving a finger in front of his face. “Are you dizzy?” When Lance shook his head, Keith continued on. “You didn’t fuck it up. I wasn’t paying attention. You’ve been distracted, and I was being selfish, wanting to get back into this time spent with you when I should have said not tonight.” 

“Oh.” Lance was pulling away, eyes down and blinking fast. “Ya, no, uhm, I get you want some time to yourself. Sorry I intruded-” Keith groaned, an annoyed sound, an overwhelmed one. “Lance, you’re making it very hard to not be very selfish right now. Seeing double at all?” Lance, looking very confused, shook his head and Keith put down the two fingers he had been holding up. “Good. Now listen. We are going to go get something cold to put on your cheek, something to eat because I’m still hungry and I think you may be as well-” Keith stood and then helped Lance to his feet, holding up a finger when it looked like there was going to be an argument, “-and you can give me the full story of what happened.” 

They walked out the door, side by side. 

“Selfish about what?”

“Don’t worry about it right now Lance. I’ll tell you later.”

“That’s not fair! Now it’s all I’m going to be able to think about!”

“Ah, going to think about me?”

“Wh-No! That’s not what I meant and you know it. Keith! Stop smiling like that and tell me what you mean!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same story universe, but not a direct follow-up to the other chapters. Have my first attempt at some spice, mild level. Not beta-ed, mild editing. Take it as it is.

There was something so incredibly rewarding in being able to turn an anxious, vibrating, mess of an overthinking Lance into this. Soft and quiet and so damn needy as Keith pulled him further forward into his lap and kissed a soft trail up the side of his neck, lingering here and there to bite less softly. Lance jolted, letting out a low moan and tilting his head to the side. Oh? Maybe not so quiet. 

Keith smiled, peeling his lips back from sharp canines and revisited the spot until Lance whispered his name and traced long fingers through black hair. As he sucked a mark into the warm skin, feeling the vibrations from the noises Lance was making, the grip on his dark hair tightened sharply. Keith pulled a sharp breath in through his nose and suddenly Lance went still, attempting to stammer out an apology, grip going slack and anxiously petting against Keith’s head in an attempt to soothe the hurt.

For a moment Keith was annoyed at the anxiety that never seemed to leave. Not at Lance himself, but at this thing that was so out of his control yet exerted so much control over him. It was frustrating to see the silly selflessness constantly edging into worry that he was both too much and not enough. But then Keith realized it was both a challenge and an opportunity, to be able to show Lance there was nothing to be sorry for with him. That he wanted everything Lance had to offer. Keith encouraged Lance to wrap those long legs around his waist and then he was standing and turning, whispering for him to hold on and pinning Lance to the mattress with a relentless soft assault of lips and teeth and tongue against a warm mouth, his hands sliding from under strong thighs up and over slim hips to rest his forearms on either side of Lance’s head. 

Lance had pulled at the hair under his fingers again when Keith had pushed him on his back, and he seemed to forget that he had ever been hesitant in the first place. He was tugging lightly, almost unconsciously, seeking sensation in the same way Keith had seen Lance ground himself with other stimuli when he was feeling overwhelmed. Good. He shifted his mouth softly against the sharp edge of a brown collarbone, fluttering a series of almost nonexistent kisses, and then a harder press against the junction of shoulder and neck. 

Lance was gasping out his name, tightening his legs around his waist, and tugging with purpose on Keith’s hair in an attempt to direct his mouth up. 

Keith went happily if not slowly, biting soft brown skin and leaving barely there marks until he was looking at Lance below him, faded freckles and red cheeks and lower lip indented from where he had been biting it. Keith leaned forward and kissed it just once, smiling when Lance attempted to both drag him down and follow him up for more. 

They were both paladins, had both been fighting together and training together since they reached space, and together had put on size and muscle from their time as young teens. But Lance was lean, his time spent behind the scope of a rifle giving him less need for brute force and raw strength while Keith… was not. Between his Galra genes, spending time doing extra work with the Blade, and a preference for fighting with his fists or feet or knives, he had definitely bulked up and filled out compared to his partner below him. So though Lance pulled, Keith held back with a lidded smile, delighting in the way blue eyes opened wider in frustration. 

There was something inherently satisfying in tormenting Lance before spoiling him with affection. Maybe Keith had never progressed past grade school crush behavior, but pulling the proverbial pigtails gave him a thrill, especially with a recipient as responsive as Lance. Besides, as Keith pressed forward, his weight bearing Lance down into the mattress even further while he collected his wrists and pinned them above his head, the gasping whine Lance let out told him he wasn’t opposed to a little pigtail pulling. 

“Hmm… like it when I’m a little mean?” Keith rolled his hips forward, a devastating press of his hard length against Lance’s own, frustratingly brief for both of them before he countered the pleasure with a sharp tug to soft brown hair. Lance flushed a pretty shade darker at the words and the treatment, mouth dropping open but following the direction to tilt his head back and bare the line of his throat. 

Keith promptly lost any plan he may have had in his very urgent need to mark and claim and deface that smooth line of brown skin. Felt and heard Lance go pliant with needy little exhales. Besides the urgent tilt of his hips, legs tightening with every sucking bite around the waist keeping him pinned flat, Lance laid still beneath Keith and that was such a heady rush of power. Having someone normally so buoyant and active and nurturing willing to slow down and let someone else take care of him made Keith hyper aware of all the small noises and movements, and inspired him to shift his focus to drawing more of those out. 

Because as much as Lance and Keith both liked it when he was rough, forcing reactions rather than coaxing them, pushing past what was comfortable and being driven by desperation to feel a pain of their own making just to prove they were alive and had control, sometimes it was more satisfying to be slow and soft and sweet. 

“You like it when I’m a little mean… but you really like it when I’m nice, don’t you sweetheart?” His voice was a low rumble against Lance’s neck, and he felt it against his lips when Lance swallowed. Then swallowed again. Ya, he just wanted to be spoiled tonight, not pushed, and Keith was happy to accommodate.

He loosened his grip on Lance’s wrists, and trailed a hand down to support his lower back, encouraging the arch against him and feeling the warmth of their connection along his entire front. “Come on baby, let me take care of you.” His whisper was soft and dark against the shell of Lance’s ear, and Lance let out a low groan, either at the nickname or the action, and looped an arm around Keith’s neck for support; tightened his legs and held on. 

Keith rocked his hips forward, chasing friction and giving it. Even through the layers of clothing he could feel the lines and ridges of their bodies sliding against each other. Could feel Lance hard against his stomach, and it was sending jittery sparks of pleasure down his spine with the realization that he was the cause. That they were both so desperate for each other, grinding, fully clothed, and too turned on to stop. He felt breathless with the pleasure of it, and gasped harshly against the skin of Lance’s neck. 

Lance kept his shoulders pressed against the bed to give him the leverage for a deeper arch, a harder press, helping in the only way he could. Keith felt the muscles of his abs and thighs start to burn from the constant rolling, thrusting, dragging, but he’d be damned if he stopped before he unraveled Lance into a hopefully crying mess. 

Based on the noises Lance was making, the hard drag of nails down his back, Keith was getting close to his goal. He braced his other arm against the bed next to Lance’s head, and tightened his grip to keep their bodies felt as close as possible. 

“You sound so good for me sweet boy. So responsive.” Keith felt the whimper, felt it vibrate against his lips, and heard it break above him. He pressed his smile against warm brown skin, stretched so beautifully as Lance tipped his head back, both running from and savoring the pleasure it seemed like. Keith slowed down, dragged out his motions slow and lazy and purposely not quite enough. Waited until Lance’s eyes barely cracked open at the pause and he could see the hazy pleasure there, the pupils blown so wide they left only a thin ring of brilliant blue. 

“There you are,” Keith whispered, voice sounding impossibly fond. Lance localized to his soft vocalization, blinking once, his eyelids pulling up to reveal even more expressive blue underneath. Keith rolled his hips forward again for the sole purpose of watching them flutter shut. 

There was a simple joy in reducing Lance to this, nothing but receptive desire and feeling. He pushed harder, whispered soft praises. All the while he watched Lance’s face pinch with pleasure until his eyes flew open, meeting the intense gaze staring down at him. “Keith, I-I can’t-I’m going to-” Lance was looking positively distressed. Keith would unpack that later, but right now he just wanted him to focus on that good feeling. “Shhh, you can let go. I have you.” Lance nodded, wrapped both hands into Keith’s hair, and gripped tighter with each rough thrust. His eyes got wider, mouth dropped open, and some insensible noise worked its way out until with a full body jerk and a rough gasped “Oh!” Lance fell apart beneath him, hips rutting desperately against the hard plane of Keith’s stomach. 

The small noises Lance was making drove Keith harder, until the noises were less small, and Keith could feel the clenching in his belly, the hitch in his breath, the mixed pleasure from getting Lance to this point coupled with the sensation as he ground down harshly once more. Overwhelmed, he buried his face in the warm space between Lance’s neck and shoulder and shuddered as he finished in his suit, chasing the sensation for as long as he could. 

He felt the legs around his hips start to go slack, and carefully pulled his weight off the boy beneath him and stretched along his side, keeping warm points of contact. They both breathed, in easy silence, before Lance snorted. “I can’t believe you just dry humped me until we came in our suits.” Keith sniffed delicately, throwing an arm across the trim waist next to him. “Key take away being we both came. Are you really complaining?” “That wasn’t a complaint, just an observation… Though I would like to complain about how uncomfortable this is.” “I’m not making you lay in it Lance.” “No, but you’re not exactly offering to help me clean up, are you?” “It’s been 30 seconds! Have you never heard of an afterglow?!” At this point Lance had broken down into breathless laughter, unable to rebut, and Keith, with his own amused groan, began edging Lance off the bed. The other boy shrieked, grappling desperate hands and feet around Keith who began laughing in earnest, abandoning the attempt. 

They lay together until the laughter had subsided.

“Lance, would you like some help getting cleaned up?” “Why thank you. I thought you’d never offer.”


End file.
